


Unravel

by Remeinhu



Series: These Fragile Bodies [3]
Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: ADHD, ADHD Anne Boleyn, ADHD dignosis, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Beheaded Cousins, Dyslexic Jane Seymour, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Handywoman Jane, Illiteracy, Medical Procedures, Panic Attacks, Rejection-Sensitive Dysphoria, Yelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26572705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remeinhu/pseuds/Remeinhu
Summary: Anne's mischief, forgetfulness, temper, and apparent lack of time management skills begin to wear on Jane. Kitty, meanwhile, wonders whether there might be an explanation for her cousin's behavior.
Relationships: Anne Boleyn & Jane Seymour, Anne Boleyn & Katherine Howard, Anne Boleyn/Catherine Parr, Anne of Cleves & Jane Seymour, Anne of Cleves/Katherine Howard, Catherine of Aragon & Jane Seymour, Katherine Howard & Catherine Parr, Katherine Howard & Jane Seymour
Series: These Fragile Bodies [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1800094
Comments: 87
Kudos: 122





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up that Jane comes off rather badly in the beginning of this fic. She will get better, I promise, but it'll take some work.
> 
> I write ADHD based on my own experience, though, as I've mentioned in other fics, I read Anne as combined-type, whereas I'm primarily inattentive.
> 
> Also a general CN that Anne will exhibit some of the self-loathing that is sadly not uncommon for ADHDers, especially pre-diagnosis. So, gird up your loins and all.

“Just another minute!”

Jane Seymour rubbed the bridge of her nose in an increasingly futile attempt to stifle her irritation. She, Anne, and Kitty were due at the clinic in forty-five minutes for another round of the seemingly-endless _vaccines_ they apparently needed to stay healthy in this new life, and Anne Boleyn was late.

_Again._

_Does she_ ever _stop to think about other people? These clinic appointments are stressful enough without having to wrangle a queen who has the attention span of an amphetamine-fueled squirrel._

After their highly confusing initial visits—during which there had been much headshaking and eyerolling, many condescending utterances of “oh, yes, _of course,_ ” and, eventually, a harrowing ordeal in which Anne and Kitty had to get inside a claustrophobia-inducing tube called an _MRI machine_ which, in turn, had finally produced images which proved the scar tissue on their necks went so deep it could _only_ have come from a full decapitation—the doctors finally threw up their hands and arranged a schedule in which the queens would come in in groups of three for a series of appointments in which they would catch up on all the vaccines, checkups, tests, and the like necessary to understand and preserve their health in the twenty-first century. Which was why Jane and Kitty were waiting for Anne (these three, at least in their previous lives, had shared a closer familial relationship than the others, so their health seemed at least nominally more relevant to one another’s) so they could get their third round of shots.

It should have been a nice thing, Jane (who was, truth be told, absolutely _terrified_ of the doctor’s office, though of course she took pains not to show it) thought, to at least have the support of her cousins if they had to go through this ordeal anyway. Jane had to admit that if nothing else, she was grateful that the other two asked enough questions about the interminable forms, and accepted her excuses about having a headache, that she hadn’t yet had to confess that she could barely read any of them. They might even have used it as an opportunity to bond with one another—if it weren’t for the fact that Anne _always_ seemed to screw _something_ up.

She’d been so late getting out the door for their first visit that they’d nearly had to reschedule, and then had peppered the nurse with so many questions about all the objects in the room they’d barely had time to fit in everything that needed doing. The second time, she’d forgotten a critical piece of paperwork that Catalina had had to ferry in the following day. Now they were on track to be nearly as late as the first time, and Jane had very nearly _had it._

It wasn’t just the doctor’s visits, either. It was the impulsive spending (did she not understand that they had _no_ marketable skills in this new world, and that money didn’t just _appear_?), the inappropriate jokes, the hair-trigger temper, the _constant_ parade of missing household items and cabinets left open, the piles of books and papers that sprung up like mushrooms on the stairs and the kitchen table and every other flat surface. On top of which, Jane had lost count of the times she’d tripped over a pair of shoes left in the doorway.

_One of these days, ironically enough, someone is going to break their neck._

And _then_ there was the queens’ shared project. After going to see performances of _Hamilton_ and _Spring Awakening,_ Kitty had floated the idea of writing a musical about their lives, and after some initial hesitation (Jane herself thought she’d prefer to let as few people as possible know her real identity) they’d all gotten quite excited about the project, Anne especially. This, she told everyone repeatedly, was her opportunity to correct the record and tell _her_ story.

_In which case,_ Jane thought irritably, _you’d think she’d make more of an attempt to complete her part of the writing on time._ Everyone had first drafts of their solos finished—everyone _but_ Anne. She was holding up the entire process, and Jane couldn’t understand why everyone else was being so indulgent of her.

_Well, scratch that. Obviously_ Cathy _indulges her. I swear, those two spend more time in one another’s beds than out of it, and they_ aren’t _quiet, either. Yet another area in which she’s inconsiderate. At least Cathy has the decency to look embarrassed._

And _all right,_ she and Kitty had the whole “beheaded cousins” bond. Jane could understand that.

What she _couldn’t_ understand was why Anna and especially Catalina didn’t put the fear of God into the woman. Anna clearly didn’t suffer fools—except for Anne, for some unfathomable reason—and she _saw_ how awed Anne was by Catalina.

_You’d think she’d be the least inclined of any of us to give her a pass—_

Just then, Jane’s thoughts were interrupted by a small whirlwind clattering down the stairs, chestnut hair flying every which way as she fumbled to fasten her choker.

“Nan, what took you so long?” Kitty asked, nevertheless looking thrilled to see her older cousin. _Not that you could tell which was the older by looking at them._ Kitty’s dark hair was swept up in a meticulous twist at the back of her head, and she wore a russet scarf and a coffee-colored dress that draped elegantly off her slender shoulders. Anne, on the other hand, was wearing jeans she’d clearly picked up from a heap on the floor, a shirt that said “You Have a Friend in Cheeses,” ( _those_ words, alas, were simple enough for her to puzzle out, and heaven knew she’d had far too many opportunities to practice—even without Anne loudly explaining the joke, which she had) and a blue hoodie that was rather too small for her and which Jane therefore assumed was Cathy’s.

“Couldn’t find my phone.” Anne fumbled around in her cavernous shoulder bag. “I’ve got it now, though. Let’s go.”

Jane shooed the other two out the door and locked it behind them. “I’m amazed Cathy lets you kiss her when you’re wearing that sacrilegious shirt. ‘You Have a Friend in _Cheeses_?’ _Really?_ ”

Anne snorted. “Cathy thinks it’s _hilarious._ ”

“I suppose it’s true that love addles you, then.”

“Jane!” Kitty sounded annoyed. “You’re being awfully waspish.”

“I just don’t want us to be late again! Kitty, what time is it?”

Kitty consulted her phone. “Quarter ‘til ten. We should still be all right as long as there aren’t any delays on the tube…”

“Right. Well, no time to shilly-shally. Let’s move, ladies.” She set off at a pace that left Anne and Kitty scrambling to catch up.

“Good Lord, Seymour, is it shark week or something?” Anne was wearing that _infuriating_ smirk she always had when she had been especially chaotic.

“I have no idea what you mean. Unlike _some_ people, I don’t spend every spare moment rotting my brain on Tweeter or whatever it’s called.”

Anne groaned. “PMS, Jane. I mean PMS.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Suit yourself. I’m still going to make fun of you.”

“I expect nothing less from you, Anne Boleyn. I will grant that in that, you are uniquely talented.” She glared at Anne, who was still smirking, before fixing her gaze firmly ahead of her and attempting to redouble her pace.

_Self-centered twat._ Usually she’d have been shocked at herself for the epithet, but she was beyond caring. _Doesn’t she even have the decency to be embarrassed?_

It was perhaps unfortunate that Jane couldn’t see inside Anne’s mind at that moment, for if she could have, she would have realized that behind her smirking and teasing, Anne was brutally berating herself.

Kitty, however, saw her cousin’s eyes cloud and noticed her starting to bite her nails as soon as Jane stormed ahead, and thought she might have an inkling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own Anne's "You Have a Friend in Cheeses" shirt. Actually, chances are good that if I describe a t-shirt of Anne's, I own it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we see the morning's events from Anne's perspective, and in which Anne is quite aware of what she sees as her failings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anne has some fairly rough inner monologue going on in this chapter, so heads-up.

Anne really, truly, had not meant to be late. In fact, she’d tried _very_ hard not to be. She’d set an alarm so that she’d wake up with ample time to complete her morning routine, she’d chosen an outfit that she hoped would communicate “responsible adult,” and she’d even checked the contents of her bag the night before to ensure it had everything she’d need and hung it across the back of her desk chair.

Except that she and Cathy had gotten into an intense conversation about free will which meant they’d stayed up late, and then when Anne had finally tried to go to sleep her mind simply wouldn’t turn off, no matter how firmly she told it otherwise. She didn’t manage to doze off until 3:30 in the morning, which meant she slept through her alarm. Cursing floridly, she grabbed her phone and dashed into the bathroom to perform some perfunctory ablutions. As she did so, she realized that an infected pore on her right shoulder would drive her bananas for the rest of the day, so she opened the medicine cabinet to hunt for a plaster, not realizing that she’d put her phone down on the cabinet shelf in the process.

She ran downstairs to grab a tub of yogurt and a granola bar from the kitchen, then returned to her room and threw them in her bag, casting around for something to wear. She _had_ , in fact, chosen an outfit the previous day, but since she’d hung it up in her closet (Jane was constantly complaining about how she left clothes lying all over, and she really _did_ understand that it was a massive nuisance), it was out of sight and therefore as good as non-existent to her. She spotted a pair of jeans in a corner and a t-shirt and a hoodie of Cathy’s that _one_ of them had rather exuberantly flung towards the window in another. She sniffed them suspiciously, but they still smelled reasonably fresh.

_Good enough. God, I_ hate _the way re-worn clothes feel on my skin, but I keep forgetting to do laundry, so there’s no help for it right now, I guess. At least they smell fine. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to think about anything else all day._

She yanked on her clothes and quickly brushed her hair, which was flying everywhere. _I think I have a hairtie in my bag; I’ll braid it on the tube. It would make life so much easier if I cut it short, like Anna’s, but it just doesn’t feel like_ me…She grabbed her bag and fumbled for her phone, panic settling in her gut as she realized it was nowhere to be found.

_Merde. I would have been on time in spite of everything—where the hell is it?_ She looked all over her room, tearing the covers off her bed and flinging papers from her desk to the floor, but the device failed to materialize.

“Anne!” came Jane’s voice from the hall. “We’re going to be late—get down here!”

“Just another minute!” She tried to sound casual and cheerful, even though she felt like she was on the verge of tears. _She’s already at her wit’s end with me, and I don’t blame her. I’m going to make us late_ again, _and we’ll have to reschedule, and it’s obvious how much she hates going in and we’ll have to go again and it’ll be_ my _fault…_

“Anne?” Cathy’s voice broke into her thought-spiral, and she turned to see her girlfriend standing in the doorway. “I found this in the bathroom cabinet…” She held out the offending phone, furrowing her brows in concern as she took in Anne’s rapid breathing and glassy eyes. “Love, come here. It’s all right, you have your phone back now, and you won’t be too late.” She squeezed the taller woman tightly, and Anne felt her mind stop racing and her breathing begin to return to normal at the firm, constant pressure of Cathy’s touch.

After a moment, Anne sighed. “I’d better get going before Jane bites my head off. It would be pretty pathetic to come back and lose my head again, huh?” She tried to laugh, but her heart wasn’t in it.

“Choker?”

Anne’s hands flew to her neck. “Oh, shit. Where is…?”

Cathy reached into her pocket. “I thought it might be a good idea to bring the one you left in my room the other day.”

Anne kissed her, a bit sloppily. “You’re a lifesaver, Cath.” She dashed off, fastening the choker as she went. “I’ll see you in a bit, love!”

She was buoyed when she saw how happy Kitty looked to see her, but then she caught a glimpse of Jane’s pinched expression and her heart sank.

____

She tried to cover it up by ribbing Jane about her mood, but as they race-walked to the tube station, internally Anne was reading herself the riot act. By the time they’d caught a train (five minutes later than the one they’d wanted, which translated to five minutes of awkwardly standing on the platform while the seconds dragged on glacially; then, when the next train finally arrived, there were no free seats, so Anne couldn’t wrestle her hair into order _or_ keep her hands busy by doing so), she felt utterly miserable.

_I’m sure Jane thinks I just don’t care about anyone else, and I wouldn’t blame her for it. God knows I could put in more of an effort. I always come up with excuses, when all I need to do is_ just. do. what. needs. doing. _It isn’t just this; I know I’m holding up the musical because I can’t seem to just sit down and write my song. I’ve got all these ideas, how hard can it be?_

_I don’t know why any of them put up with me._ I _wouldn’t._

_Henry_ didn’t. _Can I really blame him?_

She looked over at Kitty, who seemed to be eyeing her with concern, but that just made her feel worse—and seeing her scarf reminded her that it wasn’t just her Henry had tired of putting up with.

_It would be one thing if I’d gotten what was coming to me. But I got innocent people killed along with me, and left Elizabeth alone and unprotected._

_Now I’m dragging people down with me all over again._

“Nan?” Kitty had edged closer to Anne’s handrail. “Are you all right?”

“Hmm?” Anne tried to plaster a chipper expression onto her face. “Yeah, of course, why?” _God, I_ want _to talk to her, so why is it that the_ only _time I don’t just blurt out whatever crosses my mind is when she asks?_

Kitty didn’t seem to have been fooled. “Your eyes are glassy, your cuticles are bleeding, and you hastily tried to dredge up a grin when I started talking to you. Not to mention that Jane was frankly being pretty nasty to you, and I know that if I’d been on the receiving end of that _I_ wouldn’t be okay.” She raised an eyebrow.

_How is it that when_ she _does that, she looks mature and elegant, and when I do it I look like a drunk Groucho Marx?_

“Eh, I mean, I had it coming.” She shrugged. “I know you don’t like these visits any more than Jane does, and I’m sorry for adding to the stress of them. I’ll try to do better.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Kitty replied, but just then the train stopped and Jane made a beeline for the door, so Anne was saved from having to answer Kitty as they scrambled to catch her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a nurse has poor professional boundaries, Kitty has a small panic attack, and Jane and Anne have it out with each other.
> 
> There is yelling. Blows are thrown, and landed, well below the belt.

Thankfully, they made it to the clinic only ten minutes later than their scheduled appointment time, and the intake process was fairly smooth. Anne, feeling guilty, offered to take care of everyone’s paperwork, and Jane, for all her annoyance, was visibly relieved at this, adding another bit of evidence to Anne’s suspicion that Jane had far more trouble reading than she let on.

_I’d love to help her, but I fear I’d be the worst possible person to broach the subject. Perhaps I should mention something to Cathy—or to Anna, who knows what it’s like to come to a new country where you are, for all functional purposes, illiterate in the language._ She tried to file that idea away for future reference, but she knew she’d probably forget. _Great. Another failure._

She felt anxious and fidgety, but she knew how much it bothered Jane (and, she assumed, everyone else) when she bounced her leg or chewed on her pen, so after she finished the paperwork and handed it back at the desk, she quite literally sat on her hands in order to stay still.

_I don’t understand why it feels this hard to keep it together like a normal human being. It felt just as hard in my last life, too, but at least I had a religious framework for understanding it, onerous though it might have been. Now I just feel like a fuckup._

She hoped they’d get called in soon. This waiting room was intolerable.

____

Everyone seemed to calm down a little once they were taken to the exam room, which was quiet and warmly lit and a relief from the noise and harsh fluorescent light of the waiting room. They’d even started chatting a bit when someone knocked on the door.

“Come in!” Anne called, and the door opened.

Just then, Kitty blanched and started breathing much more quickly. The reason immediately became obvious as a wave of lavender scented perfume hit Jane and Anne full force; the scent was immediately followed into the exam room by a nurse they hadn’t met before.

“Where’s Nurse Margolis?” Anne asked, as Jane made to guide Kitty through one of the breathing exercises her therapist had recommended.

“Oh, she had to duck out early,” the new woman, who was graying and looked to be in her mid-fifties, trilled. “I’m Nurse Kokhleffel,* and I’ll be filling in.” She bustled over to Kitty and, before anyone could say anything, grabbed her arm in what she surely thought was a comforting gesture.

Kitty shrieked and reflexively hit out at the nurse, who jumped back, looking affronted. “My goodness, what’s wrong with her? I was trying to help!”

_Right._ Anne got to her feet and propelled her into the opposite corner of the room. “The smell of your perfume triggers some _very_ difficult memories for Ms. Howard, so she was already panicked. Grabbing her was exactly the _wrong_ thing to do. I’m sure you meant well, but at this point if there’s someone else in the clinic who could administer our shots, that would be preferable. And for future reference, maybe consider _asking_ before touching patients? Just as a matter of basic respect?”

Nurse Kochleffel looked affronted and opened her mouth as if to protest, but one glance at Anne’s face decided her against it, and she left the room. By the time someone else came in to give the three their vaccinations, Kitty had calmed down a great deal, and thanked both Anne and Jane for responding so decisively. Anne was starting to feel slightly less useless, but then she caught Jane glaring at her out of the corner of her eye, and knew that somehow, despite her best efforts, she’d fucked up _again._

____

Jane gave Anne the silent treatment the whole way home, but as soon as they’d gotten inside their door, she rounded on her.

“Well, Anne,” she said in a deceptively calm voice. “I hope you understand more clearly now why your abysmal time management hurts other people.”

“We were only ten minutes late!”

“And poor Kitty had a panic attack.”

“Jane!” Anne protested. “That wasn’t my fault!”

“Well, then,” Jane replied with more equinamity than she felt, “whose fault was it?”

“Possibly Nurse No-Boundaries, who thinks it’s all right to grab patients without asking?”

“And if _you_ hadn’t made us late, we might have gotten in before Nurse Margolis had to leave, and it wouldn’t have happened!”

“I hardly think that if she had to run out, ten minutes would have made a difference! And at any rate, did you not see that I dealt with the other nurse immediately?”

“Forgive me for not noticing whatever show you were putting on; I’m afraid I was busy helping our _younger, traumatized_ cousin—”

“ _Jane,_ ” Kitty said warningly, but Jane didn’t seem to notice.

“—through a panic attack that she might not have had if you’d gotten yourself together!”

“Jane!” Kitty exclaimed, “I’m _right here!_ ”

Anne was _furious._ “I am not responsible for that nurse’s behavior!” she hissed. “Why are you making it about me? _Neither_ of us can control everything that Kitty—who, might I remind you, is an adult and can make her own decisions!—encounters, and even if we could I highly doubt she’d want us to!”

“Oh, Anne, _stop_ making excuses for yourself!” Jane exploded. “Can’t you at least think of Kitty? Even if you don’t care about inconveniencing the rest of us, _surely_ you at least could move yourself to protect _her_?!”

“I _did!_ ” Anne bellowed. “I just told you!”

“If you can’t even bother yourself to keep _her_ safe, maybe you really _are_ the selfish witch everyone thought you were! Maybe you deserved what you got!”

Kitty and Anne shouted at once:

“Jane, that’s enough! I’m not a child! Stop using me to browbeat Anne!”

“That’s pretty rich coming from the _illiterate_ prig who got me killed!”

The room fell silent. Kitty turned to see Catalina, Anna, and Cathy all standing by the stairs and wearing various horrified expressions. She looked back at Anne, who was red-faced and glaring at Jane, who in turn looked as though she’d been punched in the stomach.

“You…you _bitch…_ ” Jane stammered.

Anne turned on her heel and stormed up the stairs, shoving a dumbfounded Catalina out of her way as she went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Nurse Kochleffel:" Literally “Nurse cooking spoon” and idiomatically “Nurse Busybody” in Yiddish, because I’m subtle like that.
> 
> Kitty's panic response to lavender is a callback to ch. 5 of "This Vibrant Skin," in which Kitty tells Anne that the rushes on the floor of the maiden's chamber in her step-grandmother's house were scented with lavender, and so she indelibly associates the smell with Dereham. 
> 
> (This also makes me realize that at some point I need to retcon out the lavender-scented bath Cathy draws for Anne in the penultimate chapter of "Gynaikeia." The perils of working out of order...)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Anne and Jane's confrontation, Kitty goes to comfort Anne--and to tell her what she's figured out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've had three chapters of hurt; now have some extended comfort.
> 
> CN: Anne very briefly mentions intense-but-fleeting feelings of wanting to die that are consistent with some people's experience of Rejection-Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD), a secondary complication that a lot of ADHDers experience as a result of both inherent emotional dysregulation and the cumulative effects of feeling that they're constantly disappointing everyone. These feelings aren't the same thing as classic suicidal ideation and generally aren't directly dangerous, but they still feel absolutely miserable, and RSD can, in conclusion, go rot in a hole. (I generally wouldn't choose not to have ADHD, but if I could get rid of the RSD I'd do it in a second).
> 
> Ahem. As you were.

“Jane,” Anna said firmly, “why don’t you and I take a walk?” She strode towards the foyer, sweeping her jacket off its peg and sweeping Jane out the door with her in one fluid motion. Catalina started towards them, then stopped. “I’ll wait for them to come back, then talk to her,” she said to nobody in particular, before nodding firmly to herself and heading into the kitchen to heat water for tea.

Cathy shook her head as if to clear it, then started for the stairs. Kitty watched her briefly; then, thinking about some of the conjectures she’d made over the past several weeks about Anne’s behavior and her distress over it in light of some of the reading she’d done, she called, “Cathy, wait just a moment!”

Cathy turned back to face her. “My girlfriend is in distress. She needs me.”

“Yes, she does. But…can I see her first? I think I might have an idea of what’s going on, and how to help.”

Cathy looked skeptical, but nodded. “Let me know as soon as you’re done.”

“I will,” Kitty promised. She sighed, then squared her shoulders and marched upstairs to her cousin’s room.

“Nan?” she called, knocking tentatively on Anne’s door.

“Fuck off,” came a muffled voice from the other side.

“Nan, it’s only me, Kitty.”

“I am _aware._ Nobody else calls me that these days.”

“I’d really like to see you. I promise I have nothing mean or even mildly disapproving to say.”

“Yes, _Miss Perfect,_ I could have guessed that.”

“Nan, not two hours ago I hit a nurse. I would hardly call that perfect.”

“That was _my_ fault. You heard Jane. Everyone did.”

“Well, I think Jane is wrong, and if you let me in, I’ll tell you why.”

She heard Anne groan, then shuffle up to the door and open it. She had a hairbrush in one hand, and she’d clearly been making a futile attempt to tame her tangled mane. “This had better be good,” she hissed.

Kitty slipped past, closing the door behind her and gently taking the brush from her cousin’s hand. “Sit down and let me do this for you.” She gestured toward the bed, and after Anne had grumpily complied, arranged herself behind her and began carefully working the tangles out section-by-section from her hair.

“You know, you’ve got lovely hair,” she offered, admiring the copper highlights that emerged as she brushed.

“Yes, in fact, I _do_ know that. I also know it never _looks_ that way because I don’t take care of it, so you can leave that part off.”

“I had no intention of saying that part. Just take the compliment, love.”

“Katherine. Get to the point, if you please.”

“All right.” Kitty paused to collect her thoughts. “You know I’ve been going to therapy for the panic attacks, and it’s been helping quite a bit, yes? Well, since I started going, I’ve actually been getting interested in why our brains work the way they do, so I started doing some reading, and—” she chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Anne snapped.

“Oh, I’m just remembering what you said to me that day when we all figured out how the showers worked for the first time, and I’m about to repeat it.” Kitty ruffled her cousin’s hair. “I’m going to tell you some things I’ve noticed about you, and you can tell me to stop at any time. Okay?”

Anne snorted. “Fine. Knock yourself out.”

“Well, everyone knows you’re always late, you’re always losing things, you’re always acting on whims, and you have a temper—”

“ _Brilliant_ deduction, inspector!” She craned her neck around to glare at Kitty. “If you’re just going to browbeat me like everyone else, Katherine, I meant what I said before—you can fuck _right_ off.”

“Nan, I wasn’t finished. I’m not going to browbeat you about those things, because I actually don’t think you mean to do them. Let me ask you: when you say ‘just a minute’ and then wind up taking twenty minutes, do you actually realize the amount of time that’s passed?”

“Obviously not!” Anne retorted angrily, before a quizzical expression slowly came over her face. “Although now that you mention it, I never actually can get a good handle on how much time has passed. I thought that was hard for everyone…”

“I thought so. Here’s another one: if there’s an item you need to do something with, no matter how hard you try, do you need to have it constantly visible to remember it?”

“Well, yes, that just makes sense…”

“And if an object isn’t immediately visible, do you just kind of…forget it exists?”

“Most of the time.” Anne had started worrying at a fingernail, and Kitty decided to break the tension. “And speaking of lost objects, is there a hairtie around here, by any chance?”

“Bag.” Anne pointed to her chair.

Kitty briefly rummaged around in Anne’s bag before she retrieved what she was looking for. She ran the brush through the other woman’s hair once more, before deftly dividing it into three sections and working it into a single braid.

“Is the hardest thing about doing a task _starting_ it?”

“Yes, often. With some things, like my damn solo, it feels like I have to run up several flights of stairs and lift a massive weight before I can even begin.”

“If there’s something you’re _really_ interested in, can you get absorbed in it for hours? Never mind, I _know that’s_ true; I’ve seen you and Cathy fall into theological rabbit holes and then we barely see you for days.” She finished the braid and tied it off. “There you go.”

Anne snorted. “Yep, _that_ tracks.”

“Do you find that you can’t seem to plan ahead, but that when you’re actually _in_ a high-pressure situation, you can pull off things that seem impossible?”

“All the time!” Anne seemed actively interested, now. "When that nurse was so intrusive today, it was like a fog lifted and I could just _respond!_ "

“If something feels wrong on your body, or there’s an annoying sound, can you not tune it out, no matter how hard you try?”

“Don’t _even_ get me started! The wrong clothes make me feel like my skin is full of ants.”

“And I can see for myself that you usually need to be doing something with your hands or your mouth—”

“—That’s what _she_ said.” The joke was reflexive, but Anne’s grimace as she realized what she’d blurted out wasn’t.

Kitty figured it was best to make light of it. “—Aaand you can’t resist cracking dirty jokes at completely inappropriate moments. I get it, you’re twelve.” She poked Anne in the ribs and was rewarded with a genuine, if weak chuckle.

“Okay, one more.” She reflexively licked her lips. “This one may be a bit rough to think about, but—do you worry that everyone secretly hates you, or that you’re letting everyone down?” She saw Anne looking over her shoulder and frankly staring, and she continued slowly, “and when that worry flares up, do you have feelings of overwhelming despair or anger that come—and go—very quickly?”

Anne nodded, mutely. After a long moment she mumbled, “‘Letting everyone down’ meant ‘getting myself and several other innocent people killed’ in my last life. When Jane lectures me like that, I can never decide whether I’m scared I’m going to die, or whether I _want_ to. Or whether I just want to murder _her._ ”

Kitty leaned into Anne’s back and wrapped her arms around her, feeling her shudder and weep. “Oh, love. You know I understand, don’t you?” She stroked her hair gently, whispering reassurances until she was calm again.

Finally Anne swallowed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “So what’s the point of all this?”

“I think you might have something called Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder,” Kitty replied. “ADHD for short. It’s not very well-named, really; it ought to be something more along the lines of ‘Attention Regulation Disorder—but the important thing is that these things about you aren’t personal failings. They’re a part of how your brain works.”

“So there’s a name for this? And I’m not the only one who’s like this?”

“There is, and you aren’t. In fact, it seems like there’s a pretty active community online…”

Anne waved that off. “Is there anything I can _do_ about it?”

“You’ll always have it. It’s just a part of who you are. But there are medications you can take that help most people with some of the hardest parts. They’re stimulants, mostly—you’d think that would be the last thing you’d need, but apparently they help smooth things out…”

Anne considered this. “You know, everyone assumes Cathy’s the coffee addict, but I actually drink more than half the coffee that goes to her room. It seems to actually calm me down, for some reason…” She shook her head. “How do I find out for sure?”

“Formal diagnosis is the first step. Next time I see my therapist, I can ask for a referral, if you’d like?”

Anne nodded eagerly. Kitty gave her another hug, then asked, “I know Cathy’s been anxious to see you. Should I send her in?”

“Yes, please.” Anne put her hands over Kitty’s and squeezed them hard. “You’re a doll, even if I was being a bitch to you. Thanks, love.”

“Anytime. Us beheaded cousins have to look out for each other, and I haven’t forgotten how you’ve helped me.”

“It was nothing.”

Kitty smacked the back of her head lightly. “Bullshit. It was everything.” She got up, smoothing her dress. “I’m going to collect your girlfriend now. Even if she’s going to mess up everything I just did with your hair.”

As she stepped into the hall, calling for Cathy, she reflected that Anne now looked less hag-ridden than she had in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kitty's comment to Anne that she's going to repeat what Anne told *her* the day they figured out how showers work is a callback to ch. 5 of "This Vibrant Skin."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Anna calls her bluff, Jane finally begins to ask for help.

Anna had a hunch that Jane would break the ice when she was ready. The two fast-walked several blocks without speaking, until, just as she’d predicted, Jane slowed down and sighed. “I suppose you’re going to tell me off for being unfair and nasty to Anne.”

“Actually, no, although you were, and I think you know that,” Anna replied. “But I suspect you’ve been playing that lecture in your mind already for the last ten minutes, so I’ll skip it.”

“Then what?”

Anna stopped walking and crossed her arms. “How long were you planning to hide the fact that you struggle with reading?”

Jane coughed in a completely ineffective attempt to disguise her consternation. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Jane.”

“No, really, I don’t know _where_ you got that idea.”

Anna typed something into her phone and held it up to Jane’s face. “In that case you’ll have no trouble telling me what this says.”

“Very funny.” Jane tried to wave Anna off, but she didn’t budge.

“I mean it. Read this out loud, correctly, and I will admit I was wrong and out of line and leave you alone.”

“I don’t want to.” Anna could see her starting to sweat.

“Six words and I’ll drop it. C’mon.”

“Go to hell, Anna!” Her voice broke. “You win, all right? I can’t do it. The only word I can make out is my name.”

“That was clearly difficult to admit. Well done.” Anna put her phone back in her pocket.

“And I suppose now you’re going to be impossibly tender and accommodating.”

“Is that what you _want_?”

Jane shivered involuntarily. “How humiliating. No.”

“Good. It’s not my style. What I _will_ do is help you practice whenever you need it. More importantly, I won’t let you get away with pretending it’s fine and you can deal with it yourself. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m pretty good at calling people out on their bullshit.”

“It would be fairly difficult _not_ to notice,” Jane muttered under her breath. Anna chose to ignore this. “Shall we keep walking for a bit?”

“Suits me.” They struck up a brisk pace. After a little while, Anna asked, “So what happened to Kitty at the office? Anything in particular I need to know about?”

“There was a different nurse than usual. She was absolutely _embalmed_ in lavender perfume, and you know how _that_ triggers Kitty. And then when she saw her panicking, she grabbed her arm, I suppose to try and calm her down, but of course it had the opposite effect.”

Anna winced. (In fact, she was sorely tempted to call the clinic and give the woman a piece of her own mind, but she knew it wouldn’t help matters. More importantly, she knew Kitty would be livid, and protective as she herself felt—she’d walk through fire for Kitty if she had to—she respected her girlfriend’s need to fight her own battles. She herself understood that need intimately).

“Poor _Kätzchen_. That translates to at least a sixty-percent chance of nightmares, I’d say. Well, maybe I’ll preemptively suggest she spend the night with me.”

“That’s probably wise, although I’m sure she’ll insist she’s fine and doesn’t need to be treated like spun glass.”

“I can always offer to spend the night for more fun reasons. And you know, she _is_ right about the second part.”

“I _know_ ,” Jane sighed. “It’s just…I feel so dull in comparison to the rest of you sometimes, but caring for her is _one_ thing I can do. She had so little genuine love and protection the last time around, and, well, I might never have gotten to protect Edward, so the least I can do is protect her. Or, well, something.” She laughed bitterly. “I suppose that all sounds terribly overwrought and sentimental.”

“I hope you know she appreciates that. She loves you immensely, Jane. She just doesn’t care for being mollycoddled much more than you do.”

“I know. I think it’s become reflexive. If nothing else it draws attention away from my own shortcomings.”

Anna clucked her tongue. “Not really. It actually just makes your anxieties really bleeding obvious.”

“You really don’t fool around, do you?”

“Nope. Anyway, what happened after the nurse grabbed her?”

“Kitty hit her, which was involuntary but which frankly she deserved—”

“Bravo, _Kätzchen_! _Schön gemacht_!”

“—Wasn’t it just? I helped her come back to herself—breathing exercises, careful, deliberate touch where she can see it, the works. Meanwhile, Anne…” Jane swallowed hard. “Anne was, honestly, pitch-perfect. The moment it happened, she was out of her seat. She got the nurse in the opposite corner of the room, told her off, and insisted on having someone else look after us. She…got it done.” She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “I said some truly awful things to her back there—well, _you_ heard. I really owe her an apology, don’t I?”

“Honestly, yes. Especially the bit about her deserving to be killed.”

Jane, Anna thought, looked moderately nauseous. “I hope you know I don’t actually think that for a moment!”

“I do. But I’m not the one you need to convince.”

“No.” Jane looked at her shoes, and they spent much of the rest of their walk in silence.

As they approached the house, Jane turned toward her, hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“Out of curiosity, what _did_ your phone say?”

Anna laughed. “It said, ‘Jane, you’re an _abysmally_ bad liar.’”

“Rude!”

“Never said I wasn’t.”

______

“Cata?” Trepidatiously, Jane tapped at Catalina’s door. She was expecting the riot act from her best friend, and she knew she deserved it. Instead, though, when Catalina opened the door, she swept Jane up in a firm embrace and planted a kiss in the center of her forehead.

“What on earth was that for?”

“ _Mi amor,_ I know you’re not a hateful person. You said terrible things, it’s true, and I’m sure you know you’ll have to make amends, but if you did that, I assume it’s because you’re in pain.”

Jane sighed. “Cata, Anne was right. I…can barely read, and I’m mortified about it. I’ve been trying to practice, but everything keeps getting switched around, and I can’t make the letters come out right. It makes me so anxious about everything, and then when _anything_ else goes wrong it sends me over the edge and I lash out.”

“I know, _mi amor._ You’re not that good at covering it up.”

“Then why—”

“Because we knew it would humiliate you, and we thought you’d come to us when you were ready. I think we were wrong, though. We let you struggle too long, and didn’t think about how hard it would be for you to ask for help.”

“Seems asking for help is another thing I’m going to have to practice, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But we’ll support you.”

Jane took a deep breath. “Well, no time like the present. If I dictate a letter of apology to you, would you write it down for me?”

“Happily, _Osita._ You only ever had to ask.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anne receives a diagnosis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: brief description of gun violence.

A few weeks later, Anne found herself sitting in an artfully spare room across from a tall, lanky woman whose bright red hair was streaked with white. She was dressed entirely in black denim, black leather, and chrome studs, and Anne couldn’t stop looking at her.

“So,” said the woman, who’d introduced herself as Molly Thompson and confirmed that the vintage motorcycle in the building’s car park was, in fact, hers, “let’s review. You, your partner, and your other housemates all filled out diagnostic questionnaires. You told me that your cousin suggested you might have ADHD, and you told me about the traits that led her to that suggestion. Going over those traits—impulsivity, what we call ‘time-blindness,’ being quick to anger, physical restlessness”—as Molly said this, Anne realized she was jiggling her leg and biting her fingernails—“distractibility, regularly losing objects, and ‘interest-based attention,’ which means that even though you _mean_ otherwise, you can only sustain focus on those things that grab you in the moment—so far, I have to say that you match the diagnostic criteria for combined-type ADHD almost dead-on. The questionnaires you and your family”—Anne was impressed with how smoothly and matter-of-factly she said this word—“filled out just add to that.”

“Do I have it, then?” Anne was impatient to know. She felt as though she needed, more than anything right now, official recognition that she wasn’t just lazy or selfish. And if there was a way to somehow pull herself under a modicum of control, she desperately wanted to start _now._

Also, she really, _really_ wanted Molly to like her, which made her vaguely uncomfortable.

“I’d bet on it. There’s a little bit more I need before I can make a final diagnosis, though. Everything I know so far has to do with the way you are _right now._ I need to know about your history, beginning in childhood. What can you tell me about that?”

_Shit. It always gets back to this—how do I even start?_ Anne sighed. “How open are you to considering physical impossibilities?”

“Do you mean reincarnation? Remember, Anne, it was Kitty’s therapist who referred you to me. I don’t know how the hell you’d expect anyone to help her—or, for that matter _you_ —manage the trauma of having been beheaded if they didn’t believe it had actually happened. And actually, since traumatic brain injuries are one of the things that can cause ADHD-like symptoms, I do need to rule out the possibility that this is somehow related to something that happened around your death or your reincarnation. Mind, we don’t have a diagnostic code for that _exactly,_ but I’ll figure it out if I need to…Anyway, the point is, I’m in on it. I should have told you that at first, I guess. Sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” She tried to gather her thoughts. “I was a bright and curious child—I remember my father saying when I was still quite young that I was clearly much more intelligent than my sister—and I seem to recall being reasonably well behaved, especially when it became clear I wasn’t to follow Mary’s example. I _always_ had a temper, though, and I always lost things, even if the servants usually covered it up for me. I often seemed to be forgetting things, but I was usually able to cover for it through improvisation and wit.

“I went to court quite young. I thrived there. There was always something new to see, some bit of gossip to overhear, and always new things to learn. I’ll admit I had difficulty sitting still in my studies, but everyone learned to clamp down on that so well—and in any case, I always wanted to learn more, so it was worth it. I loved music—playing was something I could do with my hands, the music itself soothed my brain, and I just _lived_ for the praise I got whenever I’d play well.

“I also always, always felt…itchy, somehow, and restless. I bit my nails then, just as I do now. There wasn’t much fidgeting that was socially acceptable, but there were some things—the pomanders we often wore affixed to our belts, for example, you could fidget with the cord they hung on under the table. And you could take up pastimes that kept you busy. Like cards—they were something to hold, in addition to which I always loved the thrill of gambling. I could usually beat most of the men, although of course you had to be careful not to beat them _too_ often—but there was a thrill in figuring out just the right line to tread there.

“And there was just the risk of court games and court intrigue in general. No matter how dangerous it was, no matter how frightened I was, no matter how high the stakes, I couldn’t stop playing. I knew I was on thin ice for so long, I _knew_ Henry was trying to find an excuse to get rid of me—but he was _so_ infuriating, I couldn’t _bear_ not to stand up for myself, even though I knew it was only making matters worse. I couldn’t stop playing the courtly games either, even though I knew that one false step would bring me down. And then one day I made that false step, and the whole thing unraveled even worse than I knew.”

She realized she was weeping, and that she’d dug her nails into her scalp; when she looked underneath them she saw blood. “My brother and four other innocent men were killed—one of them was tortured— and my daughter was left motherless before her third birthday _because I couldn’t stop shooting my mouth off._ ” _God, that bright red hair reminds me of Elizabeth. I can’t take it._ She glared bitterly at the woman across from her, who was listening impassively. “Is that evidence enough for you? Is that impulsive enough? Can you please, for the love of God, fix me now?”

“Anne, you aren’t broken.”

Anne’s heart sank. “It wasn’t enough?”

“What? No, that’s not what I meant—you’ve given me more than enough to confirm a diagnosis of combined-type ADHD. What I meant is that it doesn’t follow that you’re broken. It’s who you are. There are some awesome things about it, and some shit things.” Molly laughed harshly. “I’ve got it too, I should know.”

“And have you ever watched someone you love die and blamed yourself for it?” Anne spat. She regretted the words as soon as they’d left her mouth, and she regretted them even more at Molly’s terse reply:

“Yes.”

_Damn damn damn I’ve done it again._ She squeezed her eyes shut, afraid to face what she was sure would be contempt, but when she opened them she instead saw empathy.

“I was one hell of a lost cause when I was a teenager,” Molly told her. “Dropped out of school, roamed all over the city, hung out on street-corners and cafes, shoplifting every chance I got and doing way too many drugs. Self-medicating, I understand now—anything to calm the rabid squirrels I was convinced had moved into my head. Hated everyone and everything, ‘til I met someone even more out there than me.” She chuckled wistfully. “James was twenty-one; he’d already done time. Fought with the law since seventeen. Robbed a bunch of people already, and there wasn’t a day that went by he didn’t get into a fight. Told me in earnest, ‘I’m a dangerous man,’ when we met. But he was never anything but sweet and gentle to me, and he had a _fine_ motorbike. When he pulled me on behind, I felt special. I fell _hard._

“Got a call one day—the kind you never want to get. They’d taken James in for armed robbery, and the owner of the house had emptied a shotgun right into his chest. I raced to the hospital, and by some miracle he was still alive, but only just. There wasn’t much left. He smiled, kissed me, tipped the keys to his motorcycle into my hand—it’s the one outside you were asking about, and I keep it tuned _religiously_ —and that was the last thing he ever did, was give me his Vincent to ride.”

She whispered, almost as if to herself, “angels on Ariels in leather and chrome, swooping down from Heaven…” before she turned back to Anne. “For _years_ I was sure that if only I’d tried to change him, if I’d been less of a fuckup myself, he wouldn’t have robbed that house and he would still be alive. Couldn’t get a thing he’d told me out of my head—‘I don’t mind dying, but for the love of you.’ I thought that meant maybe I hadn’t loved him enough.”

“You said you _were_ sure. Why not now?”

“Because _I_ finally saw a bloody good therapist who got my diagnosis right and dropped a truth bomb on me while she was at it.”

“Which was?”

“'You can’t save someone who doesn’t want saving.’ And he didn’t. What he said to me, despite how I tied myself in knots to think otherwise, proved it. He thought he _might_ make it to twenty-two, and he was resigned to that. Besides, he had the things he wanted most—a ’52 Vincent and a red-headed girl—me—and he went out, as he saw it, in a blaze of glory. There was no convincing him otherwise. Nothing I could have done would have changed it.

“Now,” she continued, “Here’s the truth bomb I’m dropping on you: people who like to hurt other people find ways to do that regardless. Nothing you could have done would have changed that.”

“You don’t understand. I _knew_ what I was doing was dangerous, and I did it anyway.”

“And he’d have found a way to get rid of you, and George, and everyone else.”

“But—”

“No.”

“But—”

“Anne. Your murder wasn’t your fault. Henry liked killing people.”

A memory flashed into Anne’s mind, of the first week after they’d all woken up and they’d first figured out how to use the showers. She remembered comforting a distraught Kitty, who’d been convinced she deserved what she had gotten:

_Henry_ liked killing people _. Regardless of what they may or may not have deserved. His court was a death trap, and that wasn’t your fault. Do you understand me?”_

_No response. “Well, we’ll work on that.”_

She laughed. _Maybe it’s time for me to work on that, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fans of Richard Thompson’s classic song “1952 Vincent Black Lightning” will recognize Red Molly--and the whole plot of the song--in this chapter. You can listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j0kJdrfzjAg
> 
> Anne's memory at the end of the chapter is from ch. 5 of "This Vibrant Skin."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Anne learns more about how her brain works, her enthusiasm about her therapist triggers an unexpected conversation with Cathy.

Over the next two months, Anne tried two different stimulants before finding one that managed her symptoms most effectively with the fewest side effects. She continued to have weekly sessions with Molly, who explained what she knew about the neurobiology of ADHD, suggested a range of accommodations and management strategies, offered steadfast accountability, and patiently yet bluntly began to chip away at her self-loathing.

She learned that her brain had difficulty regulating its production and reuptake of dopamine, that many of her impulses had to do with its overwhelming need for more of it, and that the proper stimulant medication would help with that regulation. She learned that the things that most frustrated her about herself had names and explanations: executive dysfunction, time-blindness, difficulty with task initiation and task-switching, impulsivity, restlessness, hyperfocus, rejection-sensitive dysphoria. She also learned that some of the things she loved most about herself were linked to her ADHD, as well: her creativity, her wit, her ability to respond instantly in a crisis or pull off a task that should have been impossible in a limited amount of time, to make connections between ideas that occurred to nobody else.

She learned strategies to manage the traits that frustrated her: to gamify unappealing tasks, to seek low-stakes external accountability, to arrange her physical surroundings in ways that created as few obstacles to finding and replacing the objects she needed, to break tasks into small pieces, to soothe her restlessness with aural or tactile stimuli like fidgets, chewing gum, or listening to rhythmic instrumental music in the background. (This last was wonderfully helpful; in particular, fast-paced Baroque music, with its even meter and bright harmonies had an effect she could only describe as "plugging the leaky valves in her brain.")

Most difficult of all, she began, little bit by little bit, to try to internalize that she was worthy of love, aid, and support and was even entitled to _ask_ for these things, that she was more than her lapses, and that Henry’s violence was in no way her fault.

Throughout it all she found herself eagerly anticipating her sessions, in spite of the painful memories they evoked. She felt a great relief at being free to be vulnerable with Molly, to expose what she had grown used to thinking of as incontrovertible evidence that she was an awful, selfish person and then find that Molly would take these revelations in stride and continue to affirm and welcome her in her blunt, spare way. She found herself grinning when she saw her, feeling warmth blooming in her chest. She admired her large, graceful hands, imagining their dexterity as she thought about her lovingly tuning up her motorcycle.

“You’ve got a bit of a crush on her, haven’t you?” Cathy asked her, matter-of-factly, one night as she mentioned some of these thoughts while she recounted her latest session.

“—What?” Anne was rather taken aback; she was with Cathy, after all, and in any case the queens and the ladies-in-waiting of them had remained insular enough amongst themselves—it was so difficult to think of being vulnerable with anyone who _hadn’t_ died and come back centuries later; where would you even start?—that the idea of _any_ kind of relationship of affection outside their circle hadn’t really occurred to them yet.

Not to mention that the mere suggestion of any possible feelings that might point in the general direction of infidelity, for obvious reasons, terrified her. Reflexively, she scratched under her choker and immediately wished she hadn’t.

Cathy shrugged. “You’re just talking about her so enthusiastically. And, I mean, she _does_ sound pretty damn attractive. Red hair and black leather? It may not be my _favorite_ color scheme, but it’s very appealing.”

_That it certainly is._ Anne thought back to the way Molly had casually draped her tall frame across her chair, one foot propped on a crate, her devil-may-care expression, the rawboned elegance of her movements. She thought about her giddiness at hearing the woman talking at length about _her_ , and the warm feeling in her chest she’d gotten after opening up to her and then hearing _her_ story, and she felt slightly nauseous.

Well, damn. She couldn’t lie to _Cathy,_ of all people. She cringed and took a deep breath.

“It hadn’t occurred to me, but when you put it _that_ way I suppose you’re right.” She was biting her nails, now. “I’m so sorry. Obviously I’ll try to make it go away—”

“Wait—” Cathy sounded genuinely confused. “Why would you be _sorry?_ ”

Anne looked at her girlfriend as though she had two heads. “Because I’m with _you?_ And I love you? It hasn’t even been a year. What kind of horrid person would be looking at other people already?” She hadn’t even loved Henry, and she could still remember how awful it felt when it became clear his attentions were turning to Jane (although to be _scrupulously_ fair, a significant part of that was the knowledge that the shift in his favor imperiled her life). Not to mention the utter guilt she’d felt every time she saw Catalina for the first weeks after their reincarnation.

“A person who’s _human._ Just because you love me doesn’t require you to suddenly stop noticing anyone else. That’s not how most people work, in my experience.”

“Wouldn’t you at least want me to pretend otherwise?”

“Why? That seems less than honest. For that matter, why would you assume I don’t want to hear all about your fantasies about your hot psychologist?”

“You’re not mad at me? You don’t think I’m so distractable and unreliable I can’t even keep my eyes off other people? You’re not _hurt_?”

“Nope.”

Anne didn’t really know what to make of this. It wasn’t as though their past lives had left them with any delusions about marriage and monogamy, but she’d somehow assumed that now that they were free to partner for love, matters would be different.

Something else occurred to her. “Have _you_ had crushes on other people?”

“Yes, on Anna. Let’s be honest, who among us _hasn’t_ had it bad for her at one point or another?”

“Okay, that’s _more_ than fair. It’s difficult _not_ to want someone who’s mastered that level of ‘no-fucks-given.’”

“Are _you_ all right with that?”

Anne considered this. “Yes, I think so. You’re always so honest with me, I guess I can’t imagine you actually doing anything I wasn’t all right with.”

“I can’t imagine that from you, either. But also, if you ever _did_ want to do anything with someone else—not your therapist, apparently that’s a massive breach of professional ethics, but someone else, someday—I wouldn’t necessarily be opposed so long as we talked about it and set boundaries first.”

Anne was more than a bit gobsmacked—by the audacity of what Cathy had just said, the matter-of-fact way in which she’d said it, and, if she were honest, the fact that it excited her more than a little. At the same time, the shame and hurt and terror left over from her last life made it difficult to fully inhabit that excitement, despite Cathy’s openness.

She decided to hedge for the time being. “That is… _a lot_ to think about right now.”

“Well, one thing at a time. For now, my point is that not only are crushes on other people acceptable, but that I actually want to hear about them. It’s hot.”

Anne raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Sure you don’t want to punish me for my wandering eyes?”

“Oh, so it’s like _that_?” Cathy sat up in her chair, pursed her lips, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, then. On your knees, Boleyn, in front of me, and tell me _every_ remotely untoward thought you’ve ever had about this _Molly._ In _detail._ ”

Later, as they lay in bed, Anne, idly twirling a lock of Cathy’s hair around her finger, thought again about the feelings of shame she’d had when she had first seen Catalina again, and the feelings of anger she’d had toward Jane. She thought about the work she’d been doing in therapy, and what Cathy had said to her.

_Hmm. I think it’s time Jane and I had a good, long talk._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more "1952 Vincent Black Lightning" reference: Cathy makes a direct call-out to the lyric “Red hair and black leather, my favorite color scheme…”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One sleepless night, Anne and Jane work out their differences.

A few nights later, Anne, who had been tossing and turning for an hour and had finally given up on trying to turn her thoughts off for the time being, shuffled blearily towards the kitchen with designs on something hot, creamy, and decaffeinated.

_The meds have been a godsend, but I swear, some days they make it even_ harder _to turn off my brain when I’m trying to sleep, and I didn’t know that was even possible. I’ll have to talk to Molly about that and see if there’s anything we can do._

Lost in her thoughts, it took her a moment to register that the light over the sink was on and that Jane was sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of something or other and…what was she doing exactly? Anne squinted. She seemed to be tinkering with an array of plastic and metal that looked as though it had once been some sort of small appliance.

“What did _that_ used to be?” Jane jumped a little in her seat, then looked up. “Good grief, Anne, warn a person before sneaking up on them!”

Anne cringed. “Sorry. I was just fascinated!”

Jane’s expression softened. “It’s a drill. I found it at a car boot sale last week. It was jammed somehow, so they were just giving it away. I thought that maybe I could fix it, and I think I _have_ found the problem—but I’m going to have to solder it, and maybe get a new part, so I’ll have to wait until I can get ahold of the kit to do that with.” She stared off into the dusky living room. “I just hate it when things that could be perfectly fine with a bit of attention get thrown away, you know?”

Anne _did_ know.

She swallowed hard and paced over to the cabinet where they kept the tea. She started to look through it when it occurred to her that it might be an idea to put the kettle on, so she made to go fill it. As she was doing that, she noticed her favorite mug sitting beside the sink, half full of tea whose age she really didn’t care to contemplate, so she set the full kettle aside and had set to work washing it when she heard Jane’s exasperated sigh.

She looked at Jane, then at the tea cabinet, which was hanging open, with several open boxes sitting on the counter beneath it. She looked at the sudsy mug, and over at the full, unboiled kettle, and, at the realization that she had begun three different tasks related to the simple objective of making a cup of tea and had failed to complete any of them, felt the familiar self-loathing begin to bubble up.

In different circumstances, she might have cracked a joke, or she might have snapped at Jane. But it was two in the morning, her medication had long since worn off, and she was exhausted, so she looked down again at the mug in her hands (a gift from Cathy, it bore a black and white line drawing of a penguin-like creature wearing a striped scarf and tennis shoes) and burst into tears.

After a few moments she vaguely registered the beep and hiss of the kettle being switched on. Then she felt Jane’s hands softly taking the mug out of her own clenched ones and heard the tap come on as she rinsed it.

“Decaf Earl Grey?” That was Jane’s soothing voice, the one she used with Kitty. It was low, soft, cool and flowing like water (not like the clipped, sharp tones Anne more often found herself on the receiving end of). She looked up and nodded weakly.

The kettle beeped again, and Jane poured a cup. “Cream and two sugars?” At Anne’s affirmative, she briskly doctored the tea to order. “Come sit down?” She gently ushered her over to the table.

“Thanks.” Anne gave a watery smile.

“Don’t mention it.” Jane studied her hands, which she’d placed palm-down on the table behind the dismantled drill. “I owe you an apology.”

“You’ve already apologized—Catalina gave me your letter, which was really lovely.”

“That was for what I said that day after we went to the clinic, which really _was_ inexcusable. But I think I owe you an apology for being so short with you generally.”

“I certainly understand why you would be. I lose patience with _myself_ all the time.”

“I’ve only begun to realize that. I always read your cheek as arrogance, in both lives—and why wouldn’t it be? You’d earned the right to it; you were dazzling and brilliant and everything seemed to come so easily to you. And meanwhile, here I was, Plain Jane, if you’ll forgive the cliché, who worked hard and struggled to get things right. You were witty, and I was dull; you were so learned while I could barely write my own name. As I saw it, you were a conceited bitch who broke all the rules and somehow got away with it, and here I was doing everything right to no reward. It felt unfair—but dammit, even if I couldn’t be brilliant, I could be steadfast. I was going to do my duty, whether or not anyone noticed. So when it became clear that you were on your way out and suddenly the King was after me, I’ll admit I took it as a case of delayed just deserts. I just…resented your whole way of being, somehow. It never occurred to me you might be struggling, too—not that I allowed myself to notice any signs you might be. ‘Steadfast’ became ‘stony-hearted,’ I guess.”

Anne bit at a fingernail, wincing as she tore too far into the cuticle. “I’m sorry. I know I antagonized you horribly then. And I’m sorry for antagonizing you now, too, even when I don’t mean to. The digs at your literacy weren’t right, and I really should be more considerate about how anxious being late or having things out of order makes you. And, I mean, you aren’t wrong that some things come easily to me; I can imagine it’s maddening. I wish I could control what those things were, and when it happens. Just…I’m sorry. For what I said, and for how I am.”

“Wait a moment.” Jane had crossed her arms over her chest. “Anne Boleyn, I will accept the apologies for your actions, but I refuse to hear you apologize for how you are. That’s one thing you’ve taught me— _not_ to be sorry for who I am and what I stand for. When I tried to plead for the Pilgrimage of Grace and Henry told me I’d end up like you if I didn’t shut up, that was when I realized how brave you’d been. And when I came back, I decided that in that way, at least, I wanted to try to be more like you. I haven’t been very good at it, but I want to try.”

“Point taken. Or at least, I’m working on it. We’ll go with ‘sorry, and also not sorry’ for now?”

“It’s an improvement.”

“Thank you. But really, I did have more I wanted to say to you, because some of the antagonism toward you _was_ born from resentment, and you deserve both apology and explanation.” Anne ran her hands through her hair anxiously. “Cathy and I were having a conversation a few days ago that reminded me of just how _hurt_ I was when Henry started making eyes in your direction—and how _guilty_ I felt for having done the same to Catalina. I thought, deep down, that what was happening with you must be retribution for Catalina, and I couldn’t bear how sickeningly painful it was to realize that. So I lashed out, and painted a picture of you as an undeserving dullard and a prig. It helped me feel justified and righteous, at the very least. I couldn’t bear the thought of having screwed up again. It would have destroyed me. Of course,” she laughed bitterly, “I wound up getting destroyed anyway. But regardless—I built you up into something you weren’t, so that I could tear you down to try and save myself, and I fear that construction’s hung around into this life as well. For that, I’m truly sorry, and I’m trying to change it.”

“I forgive you. And I’m sorry Henry was so cruel, and that I stood by it. I’m trying not to do that anymore. A stony heart has its advantages, but they aren’t worth the cruelty.” Jane paused. “Isn’t there a verse about that?”

Anne brightened. “Ezekiel! ‘And I will give you a new heart, and will put a new spirit within you: and I will take away the heart of stone from your body, and will give you a heart of flesh.’”

“That seems to describe reincarnation, doesn’t it? But also the process of trying to be better than one was—and, perhaps, admitting that one needs help to get there?”

“Very, very true—and astute. Certainly not the sort of observation you’d expect to hear from a dullard.” Anne winked and smiled warmly.

“Brilliance rubs off, I suppose.”

“Nonsense. That was _you._ ” She yawned. “I think I might finally be able to sleep, so I’m going to go back to bed. Do you think we can start over?”

“I’d like that very much.” Jane looked at the dismantled drill, and then back at Anne. “You didn’t deserve to be thrown away. None of us did.”

Anne, who had stood up, placed a hand on Jane’s shoulder, which Jane took in her own. “Thanks for being patient and willing to tinker.”

____

The next day, Anne was absolutely startled to realize that she felt, for the first time, not only a desire but a compulsion to work on her song. She knew by now that she didn’t want to expose anything, and she had an idea that the chaotic character she still often hid behind to cover her struggles might, if unhealthy in daily life, nevertheless translate brilliantly to the stage. But she also wanted to communicate that she was trying to move forward as a person who was, as Jane had said, unapologetic about who she was and what she stood for.

She paced back and forth across the length of her room, muttering and singing to herself as she worked out wording, tune, and meter. Then she remembered something she had said to Jane that night, and suddenly the chorus, which had been tied up in wicked knots in her mind, unraveled itself before her. She lunged for her notebook and pen, and began to scribble down the words before she lost them:

> “Sorry, not sorry ‘bout what I said…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, the final chapter! Thank you so much for sticking with this, and I apologize for the long gap--IRL work has gotten a bit out of hand.
> 
> Anne's mug has a picture of the eponymous character from Edward Gorey's cartoon story "The Doubtful Guest," a scan of which can be found here: https://imgur.com/gallery/zaS1g
> 
> The verse Anne quotes is Ezekiel 36:26. She's quoting from a slightly tweaked English translation of the Vulgate, which is the Latin Bible that was used almost universally throughout Western Christendom until vernacular translations started becoming more widely accepted; it's what Anne and Jane would have been most familiar with.


End file.
